Monday, October 3, 2011

The Middle Child

Dear Gideon,


I say that so often about you. It ranks right up there with coming over to your Dad and saying "OK, YOUR SON..." to which he interrupts with "I hate it when stories begin that way."

OH WAIT! I also repeat the words STOP CHEWING ON THAT about 9,458,924 times a day. Didn't you stop teething a year ago? Why does it look like we live with beavers? You are really lucky you're cute.

Those big brown eyes get you out of so much trouble. Daddy calls you a Mama's Boy but I know the truth. You are just perfect and I'm the only one who can see it even when you bring me a handful of poop you just dug out of the back of your diaper. You are such a BOY. You like rolling around in the dirt and playing with your cars. You roughhouse with anyone willing to play and some that are drafted into the effort. Another reason I know you're all boy? Every single time I change your diaper, you grab ahold of your little boy parts. Can I give you a tip? IT DOESN'T FALL OFF. YOU DON'T HAVE TO CHECK EVERY TIME.

You're a laid back little guy. You go with the flow and do whatever everyone else is doing. (Namely, your older sister.) You're starting to talk now. You can count to ten and you repeat some of the things you hear on Sesame Street and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. In fact, you just spent your whole nap today calling for Toodles. Nearly everything you say ends in a question mark.

"One? Two?"

You're Mama's little growling, stomping, filthy Godzilla goat-boy. You still cuddle on my shoulder every single night before going to sleep and after every nap. I wouldn't have you any other way.

Mama loves you.

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